Ananya Guha writes

Love, Death and Borders

Inscribed in letters is fetish of love

Inscribed in blood is the aroma of taste 

A body withers with the mind 

armed with gun shots, myopia deadens 

into death a forever being of love.

My mind beats, hammers the soil.

What is so deathly about death?

Minutes morph into lifelessness

and love stoops to think 

and reclaim all goriness associated 

with death.

Borders are our homes

we are without borders

homes are in borders

houses are not.

They are everywhere

and love and death. 

la muerte del amor (the death of love) -- Arantzazu Martinez